


Things Happen

by RBRwrites



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Cute Rosamund Mary "Rosie" Watson, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Gen, Nightmares, POV Alternating, POV John Watson, POV Sherlock Holmes, References to Drugs, Sherlock is a Good Parent, Teen Rosamund Mary "Rosie" Watson
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-12
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:28:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28020951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RBRwrites/pseuds/RBRwrites
Summary: Multiple one-shots post canon depicting various instances from the domestic life at 221B Baker Street.
Relationships: Mary Morstan/John Watson, Sherlock Holmes & John Watson
Kudos: 4





	1. Violins and Pirates

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John wakes up from a nightmare on hearing Sherlock play the violin, who he finds putting Rosie back to sleep with his music.

Bullets fired constantly.

A baby could be heard wailing in the distance.

“Insert an IV, we don’t have much time.”

A loud thump to his head and a sharp pain in his shoulder.

BEEP BEEP BEEP

The saline taste of blood sensed in his mind.

“He’s going to bleed to death, hurry!”

The wails became louder.

A helicopter whirred close by.

BEEP BEEP BEEP

“He’s crashing! A dose of epi, quick!”

FEAR.

A violin could be heard playing from somewhere close, though he couldn’t ascertain the direction.

BEEP BEEP BEEP

Why don’t the beeps stop!?

PAIN.

The wails became even louder and then drifted off almost in an instant.

Why’s there a baby on the battlefield?

His skin burnt under the howling sun and his disorientation worsened with the raging chaos.

CONFUSION.

Who’s screaming so loudly?

“Morphine! More morphine! It’s not enough!”

The screams, the wails, the bullets, the bleeding, the helicopter all vanished with loud bellows that seem to be coming from his own throat.

Wait.

Baker street. Rosie. Sherlock. Eurus? Mary?

Oh. Oh god, no! Not again! Not another nightmare!

It had been barely a week since John moved back in, again. This time with Rosie. The flat was being renovated. Things were slowly going back to normal. Sherlock was detoxing, Rosie was adjusting to the absence of her mother, John was mending his friendship with Sherlock. Mycroft was recovering from the mental trauma Eurus had brought to them all, while she herself was back at Sherrinford, though now frequented by Sherlock’s visits.

Who was he kidding? Being associated with Sherlock meant bidding “normal” goodbye. They were never getting a normal. So, of course, adjusting to a new normal would bring along its own adverse effects. Nightmares, for instance. The same one, in fact. Since coming back from Afghanistan, the same havoc would consume him every time.

He turned to his side, hoping to seek the warm comfort of his baby girl in an attempt to get out of the war mode, only to find an empty space next to him except for the comforter she insists on sleeping with at all times.

“Sherlock?”

Now’s when he realised that the violin from his subconscious was actually being played in the living room.

He walked out of his bedroom and down the stairs to find Sherlock balancing a now sobbing and half drowsy baby wrapped around his waist and a violin in the other. The duo was watching the autumn settle into London in the middle of the night, while enjoying the music woven by Sherlock’s fingers, now working visibly painstakingly due to the act of balancing two delicate entities.

“Oh sorry, did I wake you up?”. The music paused.

“Uh, no, I woke up on my own”. They both knew very well who actually woke up all the residents of their flat. It couldn’t be Rosie anymore for, thankfully, she had stopped following her erratic midnight alarms within only a year. A remarkable child indeed.

“Well, she was crying so I picked her up. Been trying to get her back to sleep since then.”

They looked at the tiny creature drooling on the detective’s shoulders.

“Almost done, I think”, Sherlock smirked as he put the violin down and handed Rosie over to John.

“Um, thank you…Sherlock”.

Things were still awkward between them. Too many reminders of the recent trauma. One after the other, moreover. John worried that they would never be able to get back to their old ways. Sherlock’s bruises were still there. Each time his curls failed to hide the remnants of John’s blows to his forehead, the healing track marks on his arm, when Sherlock forgot to cover it with a full sleeve attire or when they would have to talk about the renovation and repairs to the flat and smell the new paint, only to be reminded of the reason why they had to, and along with it, all the horrific associated memories. Oh, Mary! Why did she have to do that!? And why did he have to beat up Sherlock? Regrets. That’s all he was filled up of. Not only him, Sherlock too of course. He must be trying so very hard to forgive himself for not stopping Mary.

John found Sherlock looking at him with eyes which seemed as if to resonate the same feelings. Sherlock was sad too. Clearly. Not about anything in particular, but the melancholy was inescapable. The toughest task to deal with, now was getting Sherlock to go to therapy. And also, to convince the therapist to help him. Apparently, Sherlock had a reputation of scaring off several psychologists through his own accurate psychoanalysis.

All they probably needed was time. Time heals all wounds, isn’t it?

Ah, and of course, a case. That’s probably what they needed more than anything else.

…………

Cramps ravaged his body and all he could think of was getting hold of one last dose.

“No”, said that voice which kept trying to prove that he was a user, not an addict.

Settled into the flat after a series of life-threatening events, peace was solemn. The incoming autumn could be seen this evening through the window.

Rosie sat on the couch, watching crap telly while John engaged himself in calls with the workers, managing the renovation of the flat. Sherlock was, unfortunately of little use in helping John with the moving in and repairs for the methadone John forced him to take, rendered him pretty useless. So, there he sat, giving Rosie company, attempting to filter into her thoughts and turn her against crap telly by explaining the numerous errors.

“Right then”. John interrupted the mother-in-law on television, scolding her son for the wrong choice of life partner. “they say they don’t have the same wallpaper colour as before. Sorry, Sherlock. I don’t think we’re gonna get it.”

“Try Mycroft”

“Are u sure? I mean, we haven’t spoken to him since…. you know. And the first thing we say to him after the episode is, could you get us some paint?”

“Oh, trust me, this is the exact kind of thing he wants us to say to him. Make him feel important and needed. Hmph. Drama Queen!”, he said, curling his lips into a smile, trying very hard to not make it obvious that he was in great discomfort.

“Okay then, let’s see.”

Now’s when John got a proper look at him. “christ, Sherlock? You alright?”

His skin was beaded with sweat and he looked pale and clammy. He was clearly not alright.

“I’m fine. Just a headache.”

“Uh huh? And you’re watching the telly to feel better? Sherlock, you know that Rosie doesn’t understand your logic of hating crap telly, right? Plus, I bet she doesn’t even like what she’s watching. It’s Mrs. Hudson who insists on making Rosie watch this.”

“Oh. Then it’s alright if I put on Pirates of the Caribbean for her?”

“I think it’s alright if we just feed her and put her to sleep for now.”

Sleep had always been a rare phenomenon to Sherlock. He would sleep, literally only when too tired to stay awake anymore. He never actually had a sleep schedule.

Mary is gone. No drugs anymore. Lestrade isn’t getting any good cases. Rosie lives here now. Eurus exists. Too many changes. TOO MANY CHANGES. Such thoughts invaded his mind palace, leaving the gates open for the night. Which meant, no sleep.

All of a sudden, Sherlock heard loud screaming from the floor above him.

Along with it, loud cries.

Perfect.

Sherlock brought Rosie down, with as swift a movement as possible.

Had to hurry of course. He couldn’t let John know there was sentiment involved.

John’s nightmares had returned, which was clearly his fault. So, he did exactly what he did before, soon after they first met.

Play the violin and blame it on something else. Be it, a new idea to compose, his erratic behaviour, or a baby to put back to sleep, as it was, now.

Rosie clung onto his silk robes, sobbing onto his shoulder, making the violin’s position difficult. Somehow, he figured out a way to balance both.

Violin on his left shoulder, Rosie on the right side of his waist holding onto the right shoulder, while his right arm wrapped around the baby, played the violin.

The screams seemed to have stopped now. Mission successful.

“Sherlock?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, did I wake u up?”. Clever. Mycroft’s rare approving voice resounded in his head. Quite like the statement “caring is not an advantage, Sherlock.” Huh. He should not have reminded himself that. Cuz caring is exactly what he was doing that moment.

He knew that John knew. He wasn’t that much of a fool. It couldn’t always be a coincidence that John’s nightmares always ended with violin music.

After all, what do we say about coincidences? The universe is rarely so lazy. OKAY MYCROFT, SHUT UP NOW.

Sherlock found himself explaining this time’s excuse for playing violin in the middle of the night, handed Rosie over to John and was about to leave, when John stopped him.

“You weren’t able to sleep, were you?”

“No.”

“Was it the detox? Or…anything else?”

“Well, I guess, both. I couldn’t stop thinking about Mary.”

“Frankly, me neither. That’s all I think about whole day. Well, her and everything else that happened.”

“I miss her, John”. Sherlock’s melancholy had not escaped his eyes since then. “John, I’m so sorry”.

“Don’t, sherlock. We’ve been over this. You are not at fault. In fact, it’s only me who should apologise. I mean, look at your bruises. I can’t believe I hit you that hard.”

“I miss her too.” John continued.

Sherlock nodded.

“I’ll go put her back to sleep then.”

“You could stay downstairs tonight.”

“Huh?”

“If neither of us can sleep, we might as well give each other company.”

“And what is it that you propose we do?”

“Watch pirates of Caribbean until we fall asleep.”

John chuckled, with Rosie in his arms while Sherlock ran to get the DVD.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and Comments are appreciated.  
> Thanks for reading!


	2. Murders Happen Daily

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rosie speaks her first word, bringing a surprises delight to both John and Sherlock.

“So, you know, I was thinking of sending Rosie to day care.”

“Day care? Why? There’ll be other filthy kids around her and irresponsible caretakers.”

“We can’t keep bothering Molly or Mrs. Hudson. Our schedules are too erratic. A day care would help with some order in our lives.”

“But the irresponsible caretakers. And the filth.”

“Sherlock, I’m sure we can get Mycroft to find a hoity toity place for her. Plus, mothers usually ensure their kids are taken care of. So, there’ll be lots of mothers volunteering as caretakers.”

“MUH-DUH”.

A gurgling childish sounded passed through the two men having a discussion over at the grocery counter, while their ward stayed in the cart, distracted by the soap bottle, but now engaged in speaking her first word.

“What? What did she just say? Did she just speak?”

Sherlock, eyes wide and half open mouth, remained paused, looking from John to Rosie and back to John again.

“Muh-Duh”.

She repeated, like the first shock wasn’t enough.

“She just spoke! And she said mother! Mother, damnit! Mary’s long gone and she’s got a father and an uncle, yet the word she chooses to say first is mother?”

“John-”.

“No, Sherlock! This just isn’t fair. I can be neither happy nor sad about this!”

“John!”

“What, Sherlock?”

“Look, John, I’m not sure if this makes it any better, but I don’t think she said mother.”

John kept looking at him, waiting for the next words, almost fearing it, if he was being honest with himself.

“I think she said murder.”

A small laugh escaped through John, unsure about what the appropriate reaction would be.

“Rosie, come again?” Sherlock now held Rosie in his arms, trying to keep his cool in the suspense surrounding them.

“Muduh!”, pronouncing the ‘d’ clearer than before, distinguishing ‘murder’ from ‘mother’.

“Hah! She said murder!”

“Murder’s her first word!”

“Well, it’s pretty natural for her to say that. She hears the word ‘murder’ almost daily. ‘Mother’, on the other hand, is what she’ll probably discover from the dictionary Mycroft plans to gift her on her 2nd birthday.” Sherlock explained like it was as obvious as his deductions.

“I still can’t decide how I feel about the whole situation.”

“All I can think of is how Mycroft would feel about the whole situation.”

“And Mrs. Hudson. Don’t forget Mrs. Hudson”

“Of course.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and Comments are appreciated. Thanks for reading!


	3. Labradors Are Cute

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and Rosie bring home a homeless puppy and hope that John allows them to have a pet.

“Boys!”

The same old call came from the flat beneath them.

“Client?”

A sweet childish voice spoke from the table, in the midst of eating her breakfast cereal.

“No, Watson.”

John found Rosie’s name for Sherlock highly pleasing.

“It’s something far more serious.”

“I’ll go check.” John said, willing to be the soldier as ever.

“Why do I find unnailed fingers in a bloody bowl in my freezer?!”, yelled the respected landlady.

“I’m so sorry, Mrs. Hudson. Our storage must have been filled. I’ll take these.”, said John, as he tried to control the situation. Mrs. Hudson’s wrath was probably what all residents of 221B feared the most. John never shouted at Rosie anyway, so the only scolding she ever received was that of the not-your-housekeeper. And Sherlock spoke to Rosie like she was yet another adult he had to deal with. Even though she was just a little more than a year old.

“Hah! Told you it’s more serious”.

“It's not funny, Sherlock”. John climbed back up, holding a ziplock full of fingers drowning in blood. Fingers devoid of their nails. In a house with a toddler.

“It's not funny, Sherlock.” Rosie had developed a new habit of imitating John whenever he was being the parent of the house.

“Right.” That’s all John could say while the two laughed on and on at the silly imitation. The day care really was full of spoilt kids. They spoiled Sherlock too.

“Well, I’m off”.

Sherlock looked up from his laptop, expecting more explanation.

“Off to Seattle, remember?”

“Seattle?”

“Yes, Sherlock, for a medical conference. Do listen to what I say. Sometimes, it’s important.”

“Oh, is that why you were packing your bags last night?”

“Yes.”

“I thought… Oh, wait. I didn’t think. I was filtering out all other thoughts to make space for my new e cigarette research.”

“Maybe you should just get more storage space in there.”

“Ha Ha very funny.”

“ha ha very funny.” The human parrot repeated.

“Yeah, um, that reminds me. You’re gonna have to pickher up from daycare.”

“NOOOO. Make Molly do it. Or Mrs. Hudson.”

“Mrs. Hudson has too much pain in her limbs. And Molly is going with me. And, yes, I’ve told u this before too.”

Saying this, John left, leaving a pouting adult alone with a toddler in her discovery phase. Except that this particular one chose to discover ways to annoy people instead of researching the world itself.

The same afternoon, outside the flat, next to Speedy’s which was shut for the day, stood a shivering puppy. Clearly not even a month old. Fresh out of the oven. Sherlock laughed to himself at the amusing analogy.

Oh, dear. Who left you here all alone, huh?

Sherlock never understood why he always had a dog loving part of him that spoke the way he just did. Thankfully, not out loud. But still. How could he tolerate such statements in his revered mind palace?

“Doggy”.

“Yes, watson. That’s a correct observation. It’s a dog.”

“It’s been 'ere all day”. The lad from Speedy's said. “you know, you should take him in. He’s probably lost. No one knows where his mother is. And lil Rosie here would love to have a pet puppy, innit?”

“Want the puppy, Lock”.

“it is, indeed, a kind offer but John may not agree. Plus, the flat isn’t big enough for a labrador.”

“Oh,lock, pleaseeeeeee”.

One more look at the tiny little brown thing making short whimpers out of cold and those eyes. Speaking of things his mouth couldn’t say.

“Alright, fine. But if John doesn’t let him stay, we can’t do anything.”

“Yay!”.

A week later, John came home to find small brown pellets on each step up to their flat and he could simply sense a dirty hairy surrounding. Only when he stepped his foot onto the stairs did he notice a small swift creature, literally whoosh past him, taking in each treat as it came and heard cheers coming from the floor above him.

Sherlock clapping at a puppy, Rosie next to him, petting it. And look who’s climbed stairs? Mrs. Hudson herself. Whose hips couldn’t bother to pick Rosie from day care anymore.

“Sherlock.”

No one said a word. All communication happened through the eyes. Rosie’s eyes. Not unlike the puppy himself. Sherlock. Couldn’t quite decipher the emotion hut he knew exactly what he wanted . And Mrs hudson. Trying to feign anger and disinterest.

“Alright. Fine. But everybody gets duties. Every single person living in this house.”

And that’s the story of how there came to be another family member at 221B Baker Street. A landlady who was not their housekeeper, two best friends, one of them being a high functioning sociopath and a girl belonging to one of the friends and a dead assassin were not enough. There had to be the most adorable dog ever, living with them too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and Comments are appreciated.  
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
